Pages

Thursday, February 28, 2013

This installment of More Fun In Mexico is brought to you by my second travel companion Christine Baudrexl.

Recently
two of my coworkers conjured up a very impromptu winter getaway to
the whale watching beaches of Cabo San Lucas. The idea of traveling
together with these very intelligent, humorous* girlfriends to the
remote,adventurous, desert terrain near the tropic of Cancer seemed
like the stuff a Quentin Terrantino film. The backdrop full of
scorpions and stinging centipedes (which I later learned made one of
my friends nervous.)** There are rattlesnakes that when coiled to
strike can reach 10 feet! (Also a concern for this friend on our
horseback ride through the desert.)***

Mexico
is a very beautiful but not a gentle land. For all of its colors and
Day of Dead relics,the skulls of longhorn cattle intermingled with
brush and cactus, delicious fish tacos and tuna ceviche, calm beaches
with crashing waves and premium blends of top,agave, tequila, Mexico
is a place where you could get "Gringo'd" (Kindly explained
by our gracious host as "overcharged") If you were a local
or knew one you got the "Local" price . Our hostess and her
friendly neighbor, with much kindness, skill and class, took us all
under their wings and their "Casas", quickly explaining the
economic ways of Baja life.

We
were certainly three very different amigas! My palest girlfriend
wore spf clothing and hats. She was a gear model straight out of
"Lands End" catalog. She took the most amazing camera
equipment to get the most primo shots of the whales we saw and of
things we did. What an artist eye! My other traveling
companion/roomate sported a wardrobe of cute dresses and outfits. She
possesses journalsitic talent rivaling that of Hemingway and
Gellhorn**** and documented and described all of our travels, told
wonderful stories and was such a wonderful conversationlist.
And myself? Well versed in the college of street smarts, fun travel,
survival and trivia, I wore Harley and active wear. I learned and
laughed a great deal with my two pals in the best way by living with
them for 5 days. I was amazed to discover the real creativity between
both of them and together we three spun a travel tale with a common
thread of high adventure on a low modest price on the Peso to dollar
ratio!

Nerve
racking enough are the stories about boarder patrol, Federales with
guns and the drug cartel, being lost forever naked in a Mexican
jails. We found that Cabo is surprisingly safe.Except for the driving.
We traveled the streets of Cabo by dune buggy and noticed "Alto"
means "Stop' and its a red sign shaped like ours in the
states.Yet no one really seems to pay attention to it. Not really so
safe. My literary journalistic, comrade tells us all its just merely
a suggestion, not really a street sign. Where were the Law Firms of
Pedro, Paco and Ramo, personal injury lawyers?

By
the end of the week we were grinning at our good fortune,the sights,
the beach, the land, the food. I giggled to my girlfriends next to me
in the back seat of the car, "Baja Baja Baa Haa haa ha ha!
Bahareahha! Bahareah! Mamma Mia let me go! Easy Come Easy Go!"
Bohemian Rhapsody in unison that would make Freddy Mercury
proud...tooling down a Mexican highway, hair tossing, heads bouncing
like "Wayne's World".*****

Three amigas gone Loco!

*The check is in the mail.

**This is an understatement. To call her 'Safety Girl' is an understatement. The safety of everything was cause for concern - from horse back riding (no, they do not provide helmets, its a beach, sand is soft) to ratio of dogs to staircases in our hostess's home (two dogs, at least three flights of stairs. You do the tripping math.)

***See above and add ginormous moths to the list.

****Fine. I will include my Amex card along with the check.*****Bohemian Rhapsody and Wayne's World are copywrited somewhere, I am quite sure. No uber talented English rock bands or Saturday Night Live sketch comedians were injured in the singing of this song. Freddy Mercury may have rolled over a time or two but really, that ship sailed with the lip synch debaucle at the summer Olympics.

Not the sort of 'hog' you ride.

When not imitating British rock stars or being patted down, Christine works as a recovery room nurse at a top ten hospital on the Coast of Illinois. She makes wine, hikes with her dog Jack and rides motorcycles. Harleys, I think...

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

I met my first Alien Abduction survivor
the other day. He was as credible a source as he could be – a
professional, living in the Southwest in the 1970's at the time. His
story consisted of loss of four hours of time spent in a car and a
sketchy radar blip collaboration.

Which brought to mind some questions:

Why did so many A-Abductions occur in
the 70's?

Was it the ease with which their
tractor beams could latch on and raise up our gigantic steel cars?

Were they fascinated by our use of
polyester as a clothing material, our attempts to be taller via the
wearing of platform heels...our white guy 'fros?

Did they groove to the sweet tunes of
pre-royalty Elton John and Paul McCartney?

Maybe they were trying to learn more
about our methods of teaching safety through movies – The Towering
Inferno, Airport...Jaws....

And why did these A-Abductions slack
off?

It was disco, wasn't it.

Why is it we don't hear much about
A-Abductions anymore?

Did they learn all they needed?

Is space fuel just too expensive?

Are they terrified that one of their
more athletic guys will wind up married to Kim Kardashian?

Maybe our plastic cars are too tiny and
difficult to beam up.

Have we become so jaded that we blame
our lapses in time on 'sleep driving' side effects of medication?

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Golden. A word sometimes used to
describe that perfect set of circumstances when everything is working
at its absolute best. I first noted a 'golden' existence back in my
ER days – my co-workers were interesting, fun and each brought a
different set of skills to the room so that when we had to kick
things into high gear, it worked. For a brief moment in time, we were
golden.

I am not talking about those magical
moments with friends or family. Those moments are so much more
personal and fluid. I am talking about those periods of time outside
that world of house and home; those periods of time when all the
players are brought together for a purpose.

Like a sports team. Or a club. Or work.

I work within a large and varied
department. But, because of the nature of our work, which calls for
more than a little reliance on one another, it feels like a family.
And just like a family we have our favorites and our differences and
our weird Aunts and odd Uncles. Which brings me to last night.

I attended a work function to celebrate
a friend. The circumstances which led us to this night of
celebration were unthinkable but our friend was there. We were all
together, nearly every aspect of our work family represented. One of
our eccentric family, the musical cousin if you will, said it best,
"We are here to raise you up, brother." I hope that we
succeeded. But here's the thing. I feel that in our attempts to
cheer and support our friend and co-worker, we ourselves were 'raised
up'. We may not always agree, or even get along but at this moment in
time we are golden.

And that's whats funny about those
golden moments. It seems to me that the more you recognize those
times in life that are as close to perfect as they can be, the more
of these moments you are given.

Being a nurse, diarrhea – here on out
referred to as THE WORD - inflicts a certain fear. Think of what
nurse do. There is not a nurse on this planet that doesn't mind so
much when a patient pukes but say THE WORD and a really great day
turns into bad one. And there really isn't a traveler that enters
Mexico who isn't aware of THE WORD. Compound all the fear and worry
with someone who has a intestinal disease and well you just have to
worry about how many times it will come up in conversation if you are
traveling with that person. I am THAT person.

So when my writer/nurse and my
hilarious funny nurse agreed to travel with me to Cabo I was a little
surprised. I didn't think they knew what they were getting into. But
I was pleasantly surprised. I must admit that the
subject of bowels came up sometimes but not as much as I thought
during our trip because the writer/nurse and hilarious funny nurse
are nurses. Nurses are trained to know what a patient needs before
the patient asks for it and it is this training of my most excellent
nurse friends that avoided many conversations of THE WORD of doom.*

Now I'm not saying that
THE WORD was not hanging there in the wind....waiting for it to
present itself....CONSTANTLY.... but we were able to avoid actually
experiencing THE WORD. Every meal was a fear for me but my traveling
companions and most gracious hosts were there to guide me in food
choices and make sure that I drank lots of beer and only bottled
water. (DISCLAIMER: this blog owner does not take responsibility
for amount of beer drank or any resulting facebook posts which may or
may not have occurred on this trip. She will witness to the fact that
the guest blogger was very very brave and did try the sashimi tuna
but passed on the ceviche, which was delicious.)

And after all that worrying and fear
the trip to Cabo was fantastic!!!! The three of us have a crazy
streak and we played off each other's craziness through the entire
time together down to the tram trip at the Denver airport when it was
suggested that writer/nurse could use the standing pole to practice
some moves prior to the reunion with her husband. Nothing says sexy
more than a pole and stripping down to that money belt.**

I would like to thank my friends and
fellow nurses, my great traveling companions for one wild ride!!! You
provided me with some lovely memories.

*'doom' when used in all lower case
letters as an expletive or manner of voicing displeasure is a
trademark of Jenny Tucker, non-nurse but Professional Person Of
Science.

** (DISCLAIMER:
The blog owner was not the one wearing a money belt. No pole dancing
actually occurred on the Happy Tram. There may have been some singing
of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody while in the back seat of the truck but
seriously, when you have three people in a back seat, how can this
not happen.)

When not guest blogging, Melanie
Somerick aka 'CrapMonkey' aka Birthday Girl provides excellent anesthesia care at a Top 10 hospital here on
the Coast of Illinois. She is also an advocate for stray rescue and
spends a huge amount of her free time taking photographs which are
used to promote adoption of stray and abandoned pets.

She should never be allowed
unsupervised access to antibacterial wipes or sunscreen.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

I have a 'guilt' issue. It has been
passed down from mother to daughter all the way back to my grand
grand mere in Paris, France. And thanks to this highly developed
ability to feel as though everything is my fault, I am petrified of
authority. Most recently Customs Agents.

Customs and I have a history:

The first time I went to Tijuana I was
positive they wouldn't let me back into the United States. Never mind
that we were walking across the border with nothing but the clothes
on our backs. (Granted, the clothes on our backs were Cardinals
shirts and they were playing the much beloved Dodgers that day.)

I routinely ship gifts to my brother in
Germany. Every year we ship his family Christmas presents and every
year they get hung up in Customs. I guess the children's toys and home baked cookies are just to hard to pass up. This year I pushed the boundaries and sent my favorite home blended spice mix for bbq. When
the box went missing for nearly a month I didn't have the heart to
tell my brother what I had done. I figured if there was any question
he would be better off to be COMPLETELY innocent.

So, with this impromptu trip to Mexico
I figured what better to take two ex-pat semi-CoasterofIllinois-ers
that coffee and spice blends from Soulard Market – the oldest
farmers market that side of the Mississippi. (U.S.) I happily claimed
my 'food' imports on the Customs form and after an excruciating wait
in the immigration line (read that unattainable bathroom), was pulled
aside for a bag search.

Naturally.

Yet, even with my poor grasp on Spanish
and the Customs Agent's apparent mutism, I was able to communicate –
with frantic hand gestures and much eye rolling on his part – that
the coffee and spices in the GIFT BAG were indeed...gifts. He shook,
sniffed and eyeballed the contents, especially the Orange Chipotle
blend,which I explained was delicious on fish. In the end, seemingly
not much of a foodie, he stuffed everything back in my bag and then
looked perplexed when I tossed the tiny TSA lock into my pocket.
What's the point of locking the bag now?

My little foray into near fugitive
status freed my fellow travelers to pass through semi-unscathed.
Harley Girl (explanation to follow) was also bag searched, But
Birthday Girl (also to follow) – who, by the way had millions of
dollars of camera equipment on her person – skipped on by.

Their fate was not so rosy on our
return trip.

US Customs Agents covering return trips
from Mexico are unfazed by declarations of liters of tequila and
vanilla. They chuckle at silver charms and glass hearts. They do,
however, have a penchant for motorcycle t-shirts. Evidenced by travel
companion number one – who chose to wear her studded Harley t-shirt
home. Not only did this warrant a pre-scan warning that 'you'll never
get through with that on' but it won her a full pat-down.

My other co-hort, now known as Birthday
Girl, also won a pat-down. Best we can figure it was because they
couldn't fathom how anyone could return from a trip to Mexico so pale
as to be considered transparent. Pat-down city sweetheart!

But, Birthday Girl didn't stop there.
You see, we returned on February 13. Which happened to be Birthday
Girl's...birthday. Our airplane seat row was 13. So, when the Customs
Guy told Birthday Girl to go stand in line 13, how could she not
react with surprise.

On retrospect, it probably wasn't such
a good idea. Customs Agents do not like it when their people shreik,
"WHAT LINE DID YOU SAY?!" It took a rapid explanation of
the situation from my spot on line 11 for the poor agent to regain
his composure and allow her to pass.

In the end, Harley Girl and Birthday
Girl survived their first pat-down and we developed some undeniable
truths about Customs:

It might take a while to move millions
of dollars of the drug of the day in one pound of coffee and 8 ounces
of spices but what drug lord would have the guts to disguise his
haul in the very substances that the Customs people look for?

Harley t-shirts are subject to
profiling.

Customs Agents have no respect for
'number significance'.

And lastly, we would like to propose
Celebrity Pat-Down. Seriously, who could get upset if say, Brad Pit
or Salma Hayek were to do your pat-down? Shoot, I might even go
through twice, just to be safe.

*In a previous installment the term
CrapMonkey was attributed to my sister. It is in fact a term coined
by an artist/writer friend of mine Melissa Stevens. She is waiving
all royalties for its use in this blog.

seriously, maybe if the US drug companies more sandwich boards to advertise our drugs would be cheaper too. plus, I had to use this pic somewhere...and how else could I add 'super viagra' to the search words?

The REAL mast – 22.5 feet of hand
lathed Douglas fir – just like the Christmas Trees, only bigger.
Sounds like a minor feet to those that sail however, this is our
hand-made sail boat and Rob likes to point out that the plans are
sometimes more of just suggestions. However, we hoisted that puppy up
with the aid of a climbing rope and a rubber mallet.

He adjusted the stays – fore-stay and
...stays.... and then it was time to test my handiwork. The jib was
attached and hoisted unceremoniously to the top. And, it held
together! It even flapped a little before filling with air, just as
it should!

note the tiny emblem in the tack corner -SailRite- (ahem, unpaid advertisement...ahem, made it myself...)

For a brief moment we both stood back
and admired the site of our boat, standing majestically in our gravel
driveway on the Coast of Illinois. I can speak only for myself, but
for a moment I am sure we felt the warm breezes of the Caribbean
tacking along with the thirty degree February afternoon.

Okay, not very Caribbean but I was in Mexico when this was taken.*

*Awesome sailing photo of me is by my traveling amiga and friend Mel Somerick, anesthetist and photographer extraordinaire. It had to be added as a way for me to remind everyone to check back soon for more on our adventures in Cabo! or Locked Up Abroad, St Louis edition!

Friday, February 15, 2013

My recent journey to Baja, California
began with two coffee stouts at the airport Schaffley's, a grande
latte (mine) and an in-depth discussion of intestinal revolution. We
were three middle aged women traveling to a country notorious for
its digestion hating microbes. However, Montezuma was an intestinal amateur. We raised bowel problems to a professional level.

After much discussion travel toilet
paper, antibacterial wipes, bottled versus filtered water, hazmat
protocol for airplane toilets and finally...'adult padding', I came
to the realization that we were, in fact, traveling with the original
CrapMonkey.*

We devised a checklist prior to leaving
our host's home:

Toilet paper? Check.

Baby wipes? Check.

Daily...constitutional? Um...check?

Our hostess had done her homework and
gave us a bathroom status at each place we stopped. These varied from
'super clean' to 'bring your own toilet paper and don't touch
anything or you can't reenter the house until you go through the
decontam shower.'

It would appear that while Montezuma
thought it hilarious to curse travelers to his lovely country with
intestinal distress, he failed to equip his countrymen with a sewer
system to handle flushing inorganic matter. Dude! Charmin – Enjoy
the Go – Fail!

Yet, the trip moved forward with little
incident. I even threw caution to the wind and poured my bottled
water over ice one afternoon while taste testing sashimi tuna fresh
off the boat. My hostess reassured me that they had lived in country
for several years now and had never been sick. With this vote of
confidence I moved forward with my vacation motto – 'No chain food
and try something new each day' – and tried the ceviche tostados.
It was only after I ate a grilled Serrano pepper that she mentioned
the need to take anti-microbial medication every six months.

FULL DISCLOSURE, PEOPLE!! full
disclosure...

I lived in fear for thirty-six hours.
But, except for a tense moment standing in a long immigration line
being taunted by a bathroom beyond our entry level, the trip was
without toileting incident.

Stay tuned! The next installment here
at the CoastofIllinois – How to do Customs or Let's Kick it Up a
Notch!

*CrapMonkey is the trademark of my
sister who coined this term after years of living in a house where
cursing was barely tolerated. It is suitable for use as a noun or a
verb. And occasionally as a Proper Name.

Friday, February 8, 2013

I never went on 'spring break'. Yet
here I am at 50-something looking at what can only be described as
'Don't Wind Up in A Mexican Prison or Get Kidnapped by Mexican Drug
Lords – Almost Spring but Not Really for Another Five Weeks –
Break'.

I have only had three 'girl trips' in
my life. One was an overnight shopping trip with my closest friend
and our daughters. Two moms, two teen girls in one hotel room. It
went surprisingly well, although we almost crashed a wedding...

The next was an overnight for this same
friend's birthday. Four women, one hotel room, cruising up and down
the 'club' strip on the Coast of Illinois. There may have been some
glass bottles at the hot tub...

The most recent was a bachelorette
party with these same women. The bride's sister-in-law joined us and
as she was the newest member I am blaming her for the dancing. On the
bar. There was also an incident with a State Senator and his
'daughter'. No, really, I am sure she was his daughter. Yea, pretty
sure... And did I mention the cooler full of alcohol which dumped
over in the hotel lobby on Sunday morning as we were leaving? No?
Well, probably shouldn't mention it anyway what with the underage
help and the fact that we were all wearing semi-rude t-shirts
advertising vodka....

So now thanks to a spur of the moment
invite from a work friend, her awesome friends in Mexico who are
hosting us, and the best husband in the world who understands how
crazy I can be sometimes, I am heading for Cabo san Lucas for nearly
five days. Three women, international travel, Mardi Gras...What could
possibly happen?

I have not left the country for over
twenty years. Back then the travel restrictions were for 'obvious'
things like knives and guns. And now I have to travel with one quart
size bag full of three ounce or smaller bottles of anti-aging creams
and 150 proof sunblock. Oh yea, this ought to go well.

(If you want to know why 'obvious'
is in quotes and italics click here for what happened the last time I
traveled outside the USA.)

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Got an email yesterday regarding a
transaction on an account I hold. The subject was FRAUD ALERT!

Way to give me a panic attack.

Of course, I see this email while on
lunch at work where I can do nothing but fidget and stew about the
possible implications. The transaction was one which I had authorized
but was clearly not in my usual spending habit. (Okay, it was on a check
paid to a friend for a spur of the moment trip to Mexico. What could
the bank possibly find suspicious about that? I put CABO! in
the memo for pete's sake.)

After discovering the transaction was
actually one of mine and not for...I don't know...thirty two big
screen TV's ...I felt somewhat relieved. Until I called to verify the
transaction.

My work shift starts early and ends
late – the beauty of ten/twelve hour days. This put me calling the bank's
24 hour number this morning at 5:50 AM. Nothing odd about that,
right? The representative was very pleasant and friendly. Pleased
that I had called. Happy that I was going on a trip. But she insisted
that I answer 'a few questions'.

The questions were multiple choice.
Things like 'which of these are a type of car that you have owned',
'on Monday, what color did you paint your toenails', and 'where were
you on the night of January 6'.

Maybe I shouldn't have asked if I
needed my lawyer...

After promising to wear a wire and
ratting out three relatives my transaction was approved.

Looks like this trip to Mexico is going
to be smooooth sailing from here on out...

Blah Blah...

I'm a landlocked beach bum here on the Coast of Illinois. No...not that Coast, you know, the one with broad shoulders. The other Coast. The one with tug boats and Arches and a bunch of ancient dead guys buried in Mounds.
I am an inadvertent sailor-thanks to my husband and our 15 foot handmade wooden sloop...for which I made the sails!
I am here to promote the beach bum lifestyle, even when surrounded by corn and clay and I hope to point out the everyday weirdness that is easy to miss because once you start seeing hairnets, you will never stop seeing hairnets.

I have a palm tree necklace. It set us back a whole ten dollars, purchased on the boardwalk in Destin, Florida during the first trip ...

Translate

Hey Europe!

Just got a notice, due to the high number of hits in Europe (!!!) that I am required to inform you that there may be cookies attached to this blog. I am told these are tracking cookies. I know. I was disappointed too. I was hoping for a nice gooey chocolate chip or Mexican chocolate. But, NO. There are no chocolate chip cookies. Just computer type cookies. I am not sure what else to do about this. If you are in Europe and reading my blog, first of all, THANKS! Secondly, if you are one of the half dozen Russian type porn sites, STOP IT. And thirdly, if you are one of my five relatives living in Europe, MISS YOU ALL AND LOVE YOU! If there is a problem please contact me Europe. I am a very delightful person and hope to visit you again one day.